


Fine Line

by tekowrites



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Red Hood/Arsenal (Comics)
Genre: BDSM, Comforting, Corporal Punishment, Crying, D/s, Daddy Kink, Diapers, Dirty Talk, Edging, M/M, Sexual Roleplay, Spanking, Teasing, Voyeurism, Webcam/Video Chat Sex, exhibitionist, pillow humping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:02:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25407352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tekowrites/pseuds/tekowrites
Summary: Bruce just wants a moment of peace and for the boys to get along, but neither will happen until he has a conversation with Jason.A conversation that doesn't happen when he finds the door slightly ajar, realizes he's observing a private moment, but just can't seem to get his feet to move.He wonders why.
Relationships: Bruce Wayne/Jason Todd, Roy Harper/Jason Todd
Comments: 8
Kudos: 95





	Fine Line

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GinAkuma](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GinAkuma/gifts).



> Please read the tags very carefully before reading, to make sure you don't encounter any content that might offend you.
> 
> This has not been beta read, at all. AT ALL.
> 
> Spoilers for Red Hood and the Outlaws (2019) up to issue 36.
> 
> Commission for GinAkuma.

Bruce hasn’t experienced a moment of true peace, not since his life had shattered with the loss of his parents, not a single moment after saving someone, foiling a plan, and not after catching a villain. But sitting in the manor, all Robins present and accounted for, for once, is as close as he gets to experience it.

Which was probably why, a mere minute later, the padding of feet, and the firm knocking on the office’s sturdy wooden doors, he knew his moment of near peace had expired.

A gathering of Robins was cause for celebration, except when they showed up with complicated expressions, and minus the problem child.

Dick was the first to offer an awkward smile, playing mediator, as he said, “he’s just a little too much at times.”

Damian snorted, Tim shuffled his feet, but decided expand, “he’s constantly listening in on private conversations and offering input and advice. Unwanted, _and_ unrealistic.”

Which may have got the ball rolling, Damian adding, “he steals my research and data and replaces it with pictures of naked Trolls.”

“I tried to explain that though there isn’t in fact, a dress code, walking around naked in the manor was...a problem.”

“He jumps into my bathroom when I’m taking a shower and sings really bad love songs.”

“He insisted he could fit in my suit and ripped it.”

“He eats on my bed and leaves crumbs everywhere.”

“He went through my wallet, ordered and paid for pizza. All week. He doesn’t even like pineapple!”

“He changed the name of contacts in my phone to a group called the Brady Bunch and now I don’t know who’s who.”

The list of grievances continued, until the vein in his forehead threatened to pop. Then they turned to him in unison, an almost practiced pivot to say, “can’t you do something?”

He nodded, a headache coming on, but resisted the urge to rub his temple. Headaches, were an unfortunate side-effect of knowing Jason Todd.

***

Being a mentor often times meant observing the situation before getting involved, before passing judgment. In case of Jason and the rest of the Robins, there was little need to so, because truthfully, much of what they’d said was so completely something Jason could have done, that all Bruce had to do, was wait for the house to settle down, and go around to Jason’s room to confront and maybe negotiate a truce or a deal of sorts. The room he’d finally moved into after he'd woken up, after the scars on his face had faded.

Which was why, he wasn’t exactly sure how he’d come to stand outside the slightly ajar bedroom door, listening in on a private conversation, that for once, was not related to some scheme or plan involving saving the world, terrorists, or members of Gotham’s underbelly. And was on speaker to boot.

“You’re doing that restless thing, aren’t you?”

He watched Jason, flat on his back, drumming his fingers against his thigh, staring at the ceiling, brows knitted. Bruce was glad to see he’d gotten the memo about dress code, even if he was only in underpants, scars, and the residual lines of his gun straps, which, coincidentally, Jason started kneading next.

“You know I can’t really sleep when I’m here.”

“I’ve got an arrow that can fix that right up partner.”

“No thanks. I... called for a different kind of fix?”

“Ah. Gonna empty the tank, see if the endorphins knock you out?”

Jason didn’t say anything, but Bruce noticed the shift in the air, the tension that had climbed a few degrees.

“What are you wearing?”

The turn of conversation took Bruce by surprise. He was just about to withdraw and postpone their talk until a different time, letting Jason have his private moment, when Jason’s response rooted him in place.

“Nothing Daddy."

“Jaybird, what happens to little boys who tell blatant lies? Hope you have a hairbrush close by.”

“God. I’ve been trying to nick Grayson’s gigantic hairbrush for weeks. You’d think he had hair to his ass that thing is so huge. Sorry, only got a comb.”

“What about that beautiful but archaic gu-”

“Don’t even think about it. Last thing I need is for anyone to walk in and find me jamming on my ass.”

“Point. No spanking, got it. I’ll improvise.”

He could hear the sarcasm in Jason’s tone when he said, “don’t take too long.”

“Your utility belt around? Get that, a pillow. Any toys? And get the phone propped somewhere, I’m switching to vid.”

Jason shook his head at the phone, and Bruce watched him un-clip the guns, ammo, among others from the belts, until he had two short straps with buckles.

“Just the pillow and a couple of belts. Left the fun stuff at the safe house.”

“Come on Jaybird, make this a challenge why don’t you?”

“Glad to know you’re inspired.”

“Pants off, fold the pillow to make a nice well for that cock, then belt those ankles and wrists. Let’s see how much you really enjoy waiting, Jaybird.”

That was it, Bruce knew he had to leave then, that whatever was developing in front of him wasn’t a show for two. But he’s so horrifically mesmerized, pulled by an unexpected force.

He didn’t so much as take a step backwards, not when Jason tightened the belt around his wrists, belt end pulled between teeth, not when Jason straddled the pillow, not when he whimpered about being close, needing more, when he rocked his hips to a litany of ‘ _faster_ ’ or when he stilled because of a chuckled ‘ _stop_ ’ teeth clenched, body slick with sweat, hair obscuring half-dazed eyes that, finally, finally closed shut on a shudder and half chocked back moan.

Much later, he’s behind the desk again.

For many years, he’d done research for any number of noble causes, world saving plans, weapon and machinery upgrades, and the occasional nod to business. What he hasn’t ever done, is abuse the criminally fast network to research why someone would call upon their parent in a moment of ecstasy, and why a person with a contrary and stubborn personality, would willingly allow someone else to tell them what to do.

Even after he found his answers, his fingers kept clicking away, link after link, video after article, demonstration after image. All their faces were Jason’s, all their cries his as well.

Bruce is still trapped in the space between the open door and the hallway, even as he lays in bed, palms throbbing from the pain of being clasped for so long, trying desperately to forget Jason’s soft, tortured calls for ‘Daddy’.

And if his palms are still clenched? It’s because he’s all too aware where they’d be headed, should he give in and un-clench them.

***

There’s almost a smile on Dick’s face when Jason shows up the next morning dressed in a track suit. He gives Bruce a thumbs up, that Bruce hopes is acknowledged by his silence, as he ponders the real reason Jason’s wrists and ankles are covered.

Bruce has to summon all his inner strength, to make eye contact with Jason, without revealing any of the confusion, wonder, or the questions raging inside him after the night before. Jason just waves at him with a piece of toast before stuffing it in his mouth. And Bruce has to look away because seeing that mouth is enough to jar him back into thinking of that room and the held back whimpers.

He blinks. Wonders what’s gotten into him. Shakes it off and follows the chatter of three boys detailing their plans for the day, and one boy smiling devilishly around a mouthful of toast and peanut butter.

He should have known the peace wouldn’t last long, particularly when the rest of the Robins nearly gave themselves whiplash turning to him in unison, seconds after Jason left the scene of the crime, food carnage in his wake.

“I’ll talk to him.”

He could, once again, feel the headache coming on. Pounding harder the closer he got to Jason’s room. It was unusual for Bruce to fixate so much, to be rattled by something that didn’t affect him directly, and he knew the only reason this was taking up so much space in his mind, was because it was about Jason.

Once at the door, he did what he should have done the day before, faced with the slightly ajar door and knocked. While he hadn’t leapt off the bed and hidden the fact he was rubbing his bruises, Jason definitely tensed up when Bruce peered through the opening and asked to come in.

Jason gave a snort, and before Bruce could get a word in, he said, “so they told on me to daddy dearest, did they?”

It was Bruce’s turn to tense, trying to block the sudden flashbacks from last night. He masked the action with a cough, saying instead, “let’s see if some sparring can burn away all that excess energy you’re carrying around.”

He’s not at all surprised when Jason mock stretches and says, “lead the way,” because he’s never known Jason to back away from a challenge, or the chance to show off his skills. Not that Bruce wasn’t aware of them first hand.

Bruce doesn’t bring it up while they’re doing warm ups, too busy watching to see if Jason shakes his wrists out, a sign that he might have bound his arms too tight, but if there’s any sign of discomfort, it goes undetected. Mostly because Bruce has to stop Jason twice before he picks up the weights, because of his sloppy, half-baked attempts at stretching.

“I’m fine. Just because I don’t practice your manic warm-up routine anymore, doesn’t mean this method is inefficient.”

“Humor me.”

“Don’t I always? I’m a walking _riot_.”

“I agree.”

It takes Jason a couple of seconds before realization and a scowl are painted on his face, “fine, I walked into that one myself. You about done stretching old man, or do your joins need a second creak?”

“Just about,” and he swung his foot, right at Jason’s head, and watched as he dodged, bending backwards, feet solid on the mat, and that’s where Bruce’s hand went next. Jason caught on, flipped into a handstand, before he got back on his feet and dropped low, trying to kick Bruce’s feet from under him. Bruce changed it up, switching between different disciplines of martial arts, constantly moving in when he caught openings, countering Jason’s blocks. He didn’t go in with the most powerful moves, or the flashiest, not because he couldn’t, but because he was conserving his energy for when Jason would inevitably let his guard down.

“Slowing down in your old age Batman.”

Bruce had to smile at that, seeing the cracks already, but also recalling a deceptively simpler time and a closely similar banter, “or giving you time to catch up.”

“Sure.”

Jason didn’t rise to the bait, not the Bruce thought it’d be that easy to drag Jason’s cockiness, and eventually his ego into the ring, but he knew he could help it come out faster.

“Not up to one-on-one battles so you’re resorting to pranks? Thinking you need to leave your mark in the manor where everyone can see?”

To his credit, Jason didn’t slow down, in fact, he managed to get behind Bruce for a blind second, before Bruce shifted so they were face to face, barely resisting the instinct to just turn around.

“Aww little Robins had their feathers ruffled and then nested under their bat mommy for protection. I’d cry. If I had a heart.”

“What are you insinuating exactly?”

“Whatever’ll make you angrier? _That’s_ what I’m insinuating big guy.”

They were slowly inching closer to each other, their weaving in and out of the center in false charges, feinting swings and gunning for any openings to strike getting sharper. Jason avoided Bruce’s leg sweep, and Bruce went lower to the ground, arm raised in front of his face to block the expected chop coming straight for his head. Jason was slipping, taking easier hits rather than planning a longer game, so Bruce steadily watched, and waited.

He hadn’t missed the ‘protections’ jab, not by a long shot, but he evened his temper exactly because he didn’t want to show Jason his anger. “Try harder. At this too. I never figured you for the type to throw a fight.”

That fired Jason up, not by much, but enough that it was noticeable. He charged, arm extended, ready to strike, and Bruce dodged, a little too easily he realized, when Jason’s left arm which he hadn’t been able to see as Jason came at Bruce, was in a fist, going straight for his side. Jason missed by a hair, and Bruce used Jason’s momentum to his advantage, locking the arm in a move Jason should have been all too familiar with from previous training sessions.

When it took Jason a minute to break off the hold and relieve the crushing of his muscles, he stepped back and got into position again. Bruce shook his head, “not good enough.”

And if that got Jason to narrow his eyes and shake off the miss, Bruce was all too happy to keep correcting him. And he did, he gave an ongoing commentary on where lack of proper training instead of fighting in brawls was detrimental, how it was a waste of time and energy when hits aren’t precise.

Jason absorbed it all, showing better speed, managing to land a few none too critical hits, which Bruce effectively blocked and reciprocated, Jason managing to block those as well. It was in one of those dashes that he noticed something off about Jason’s stance. “If you’re serious about fighting crime, you need better stamina and discipline.”

Jason caught up to him, and that’s when Bruce saw it, that Jason was favoring his right leg, just a little, and aimed for Jason’s left, knowing Jason would have to put the strain on his right then, and went for it.

“Yeah well, why don’t you just get it over with and spank me for being a disappointment, daddy, instead of talking my ears offf-”

As he’d predicted, Jason’s balance skewed and now he was hanging off of Bruce’s knee, which had connected fully, knocking the air out of the boy. He offered his hand to help him get back up, and Jason knocked it back. He was about to give Jason some space so he could sooth his bruised ego, when he noticed that Jason was extending one of his legs, his right one, the one he was slightly favoring, and that his toes were rigid.

“This is why you need to take your time and stretch.”

Jason’s voice was strained when he said, “sure, whatever. Save the lecture for someone who gives a shit.”

Bruce turned narrowed, un-amused eyes, and thinned lips on Jason, and watched him turn his face away. This time, when he approached him to help ease his leg back from the pain of the pulled muscle, Jason didn’t rebuff him.

He was still massaging the point of strain, when Jason shook his leg, and started to get up. “Jason, you need to stay down. I’ll grab you a compress.”

“Nah, I’m ready for round two. Stop pretending you’re not using my downtime to catch your breath.” The effect of his words, however, fell flat when Jason followed suit, clutching his thigh in pain while knocked back down on the rubber mats.

“Do you ever listen to what you’re told?”

“Do you ever wonder why you love kicking puppies while they’re down so much? Isn’t this fucking humiliating enough? You gotta tower over me and rub it in?”

Bruce wasn’t exactly sure what triggered the reaction, because he was all too used to Jason’s drivel and last word punchlines, or it may have been the all too clear realization that, the minute he left, Jason would hobble to a stand and try to walk the strain off, or it may have been the fact that, this whole time, their entire exchange, was building up to an explosion, a something in both of them, that at that moment, finally snapped.

“If you’re looking for a spanking that bad, maybe I should give you one.”

The surprise in Jason’s eyes dimmed in realization that Bruce probably didn’t mean it, seconds before it was back again, delayed only until the echo of the slap to his ass, bounced from the walls and resonated in the closed space.

“What the f-”

But Bruce had dropped down to his knees, lifted both of Jason’s legs, left arm pushing the knees back, exposing Jason’s ass, the right whaling down on the sweats-covered cheeks. “What’s going on is that you have been asking for exactly this, so I wouldn’t act so surprised, if I were you.”

It took very little time to establish a rhythm and method, Jason’s face itched more with confusion and surprise than pain or dislike. Bruce couldn’t be sure exactly, having no experience in the act, but he knew pressure points, and knew the fabric was no doubt cushioning the fall of his palms, which he wasn’t putting any real force behind. But as shock value, he supposed this would have to do.

“Bruce..please.”

He made sure to look at Jason as he administered a few more spanks, aiming for each thigh, before dropping Jason’s legs so they stretched out once more. Then he waited until Jason’s breathing gentled once more, eyes still open wide in shock and disbelief, before awkwardly ruffling Jason’s hair.

“I trust you’ll stay like this until I bring back a compress?”

Jason nodded, and Bruce decided to trust in whatever had possessed him to take a firm hand to Jason, and leave the training room.

If it took a long while for him to come back, to give Jason a head start on running away as far as he could from Bruce and the manor, and the gigantic elephant in the room Bruce was trying to think around rather than of, well, it was the kind of stalling that would be appreciated all around, wouldn’t it?

His heart leaps in his chest, the heat of the compress seeping through the towel faster because he’s suddenly holding it too tight, even if he’s not sure why the sight of Jason on the floor, arms covering his face and one leg slightly bent, moves him this much.

Bruce coughs, because it would be rude not to announce himself and stare unabashedly at the young man who always looked a touch vulnerable no matter how cocky he acted. Jason keeps hiding behind his arm, and Bruce’s need to know why that is, is overwhelmed by the need to tend to the injury he might have goaded Jason into ignoring, in favor of proving a point.

He made sure the towel was layered and would not scald Jason, even through the thin material of his sweats. He also ignored the slight jerk when his fingers slide closer to Jason’s groin, just trying to loosen up any tension that might have built-up there. It was his turn to jerk away when, unbidden, came the image of the tapered waist and defined V tensed against the point of a pillow, pausing mid-stroke to the command of a stop.

The awkward silence, and Jason’s complete compliance weren’t helping. So Bruce broke the ice, ready to say everything from ‘I apologize for spanking you even though you were, technically, asking me for it’, ‘why Roy,’ to ‘exactly what kind of training were you doing with Talia?’

Instead he said, “I understand you’re trying not to be forgettable to them, but you’re not going anywhere Jason, you can take your time to build these relationships.”

He knew Jason was smart enough to know that applied to everything, not just integrating himself into a family -that Bruce suspects- he feels he isn’t part of.

“Wow, sounds dramatic. Didn’t know my personality wasn’t as charming as I’ve always been told. Maybe I should have led in with some crowbar humor, ha?”

“Maybe not that.”

“So? What do they want? Did they send you here to kick me out, or just to kick the shit out of me?”

“You leaving is always your choice, it’s not what I want Jason.”

“So beating me up was just an added bonus.”

Bruce turned to him, tired of being given the run-around. “No. You know me better than this Jason, you know _them_ better than this. No one is trying to take something away from you or who you are. God knows I’ve said the same things to you before, and I’ll keep saying them, and if a spanking is what you need to really listen and process this information into your head finally, well, I’m more than willing.”

The tension broke, in the most surprising way possible, with Jason getting into a sitting position, and laughing. _Laughing_. “Not with those weak ass slaps it won’t.”

It was probably time for Bruce to confess, to say something and if not apologize, sternly tell Jason to lock his room if he intended to cyber sex anybody in the future, and then they both could laugh about this, and _forget_ about it as well. At least before it took full root in Bruce’s mind. But why turn a truce awkward? “Point taken.”

Jason grabbed Bruce’s arm before he stood up to leave, with his voice hushed and a little rushed he said, “but if you’re willing, I wouldn’t mind being target practice.”

He could see the moment Jason tensed, brain working on trying to retract the statement or turn it into a joke, and Bruce couldn’t do that to Jason, not while knowing what it probably means to him to have and more importantly, to blurt out in the face of a person Jason had at some point looked up to. He’d be in denial if he didn’t feel a sense of fear and dread, while thinking of where Jason might go to look for someone to fulfill his needs.

“And I, wouldn’t mind a conversation about it.”

Smile splitting his face, mischief in his eyes, Jason opened his mouth to say something, when a knock at the door froze them both in place.

“Sir? You might want to see this.”

All thoughts of where the conversation would be going halted at the sound of Alfred’s voice. Bruce got up and was ready to leave, when Jason got up as well and said, “I know a place where we can get some privacy. After.”

Bruce nodded, and together they went out to see what fresh new hell Gotham had woken up to.

***

He’s not sure exactly why he thought they’d go to Jason’s safe house, or his hideout right under the police’s nose, or some other swanky location Jason called home or a safehouse. What he hadn’t expected, was to experience a wave of déjà vu as they cleared the first steps of the dilapidated building, and then Jason pushed the door to reveal, a blast from the past.

Bruce had been kind when he hadn’t said much about the room the last decade or more when he’d first clapped eyes on it, and unbidden came the words again, “you... live here?”

“Yeah.”

At Bruce’s doubtful look, Jason laughed, amending, “the island is too far, the hideout is too business, this place is the most private, for, you know, when I’m taking home a _rough_ date.”

“Are you not seeing the holes and patches in the wall?”

To which Jason’s mouth twitched, “are you not noticing that the only human heartbeats in this building are ours?”

Bruce then and there decided never to leave any managerial position in Wayne Enterprises to Jason, if a derelict building was his idea of investing in privacy.

But he must have still projected doubt, because Jason started to rattle off his reasons, “it’s on brand, everything is replaceable, fits the fantasy, the rats know how to keep a secret, and usually don’t intrude if I have a guest.”

Bruce still wasn’t convinced, and decided not to say anything, as the more he said, the more thought Jason would put into convincing him.

“How about you just take a seat so you can judge me and my lifestyle in comfort, eh?”

He resisted the urge to point out that there were no chairs, and just the -while clean- small bed, but some battles weren’t worth fighting. That, and it was too obvious, so there was no sense firing Jason up.

What he hadn’t expected to happen upon seating himself, was to find Jason standing in front of him, serious and accusing when he said, “how much did you see?”

And just like that, the game was up. Playing the fool wasn’t in his nature, but knowing now that Jason had figured it out, he wished the option was on the table. “Enough to know you and Roy aren’t just roommates.”

Jason doesn’t crack a smile, doesn’t make a joke of it. Instead his mouth is stern when he says, “I’m not going to apologize for the way I live my life. If you’re offended, maybe next time you should knock. But I guess that’s not necessary anymore, as I won’t be coming back.”

“Is it because I know, or because you think I disapprove, that you’ve decided this? Because if it is the later, I don’t disapprove.” He doesn’t add that there are worse things he could be doing to blow off some steam, but bringing that up would be leading them both down the path of ruin.

“I wouldn’t be a cynic if I didn’t ask if you even knew what you saw.”

He didn’t have to fake being offended, and one eyebrow hitched higher when he replied, “your generation didn’t invent sex, or BDSM, so you might want to tread carefully.”

Without missing a beat, Jason said, “I hope you cleared your cache.”

He had to wince at that.

In an attempt to break the tension, and get to the heart of the matter, he offered what he hoped was a sign of good faith. “If it helps, I didn’t learn it from _50 Shades of Gray_.”

He saw the crack in the mask, as Jason tried not to smile. “Ladies and Gents, he can make a joke.”

They’re both quiet once more, conversation stalled, until Bruce picks it up again, “I wouldn’t have agreed to a conversation, if I wasn’t willing to hear your proposal at least.”

Which seemed to perk Jason up. “Well, I won’t beat around the bush, I’m hoping that’ll be your job description pretty soon. I get off on the fantasy of it, on temporarily giving up control, in the bedroom or some other pre-discussed scenarios or aspects of my life. Which includes being subjected to some forms of corporal punishment. Nothing permanent, no lasting damage, and no fucking crowbars. Some exhibitionism, I know right? _Who_ would have guessed? There’s a catharsis at the end of that rainbow, that you can’t get anywhere.”

He paused to see if Bruce was still listening, before he went on, “since you seem fond of correcting even the way I breathe, and have already demonstrated you have no problem spanking me for my behavior, I figure that’s enough of an incentive for you. Less whimsical happenstance on your part and more of a mutual agreement this time.”

Bruce tries not to see the manifestation of Jason’ words, but it’s almost like the image of Jason’s back arched in ecstasy has been etched into his retinas. He tells himself he wants Jason safe, tells himself Jason will grow bored and the novelty will wear off soon, and that he intends to be the last stop on Jason’s train. “How do I know I’ve gone too far?”

That seemed to relax Jason more than anything else, rather than cause him to flinch. “Safeword, traffic light system. Though you’ll also be able to tell either from my very expressive face, or my fist in your guts.”

“And is Daddy reserved for Roy, or?”

Jason’s eyebrows raise slightly, but there is no other tell on his face. “Not exclusively. I’ll leave it up to your discretion if we use it or not. We don’t want you uncomfortable now, do we?”

He was uncomfortable though. Uncomfortable because he damn well _knew_ it wasn’t so much the word as his unexpected reaction to it, that has him surprisingly flustered. “Alright.”

“This isn’t just a passing curiosity, right? I mean, obviously if it doesn’t work out, there’s no use beating a dead horse with a crowbar and all that, and I’m not asking for a month, or even a week. Just wana know you won’t wake up tomorrow and start avoiding me, catch my drift?”

Words like, you should know, or promises of forever weren’t required, not only because Jason wouldn’t believe them, but they wouldn’t stay true long, nothing ever lasted forever. So he nodded. “As of this moment, it’s not.”

Jason scratched his smoothly shaved chin, and said, “I’ll take that.”

They hadn’t planned anything, hadn’t actually discussed how something like that started, so Bruce took to really studying the room they were in instead. Looking around at the posters, yellowed and curling with age, at the mock reference to their first encounter, a set of LEGO car tires stacked together like coins, the same narrow bed, and if not the same sheets, then ones that looked similar, and a little teddy bear that’s not worn enough to be old. He knows Jason keeps his own touchstones, and can’t help but think that this room is a mock up, a cheap stand in for the real ones. The teddy bear must have been the one from when he was at Ma Gunn’s.

Jason is now pacing in the small space, rattling off a list of kinks he’s ‘not into, thank you very much’, and Bruce can finally see it, all of it. He’s half listening, and more watching Jason at this point. The constant pacing, the lack of focus or fixation on anything in the room, the faint line of tension in Jason’s body that fluctuates to a relaxed stance when Jason is aware that he’s slipped.

He was in Jason’s equivalent of a childhood room, his nostalgic little time capsule. Except this was never Jason’s life, it was never his actual childhood. It was a manifestation of everything he wanted without having anyone to provide it.

Bruce’s presence was disturbing that, was changing it enough that Jason wasn’t allowing himself to register the two at the same time. Once they left, he knew Jason wouldn’t come back to this room. Because when Bruce was here last, he’d taken Jason under his wing, changed his world, changed both of their lives, and now there was too much between them for that new clean slate.

There was, however, something Bruce could give to Jason, and he starts with that.

“Jason.”

“Hmm?”

“Come here.”

He watches Jason try to decide if Bruce really meant to point at his lap, walk the few short steps but choose to sit on the bed instead. So he goes for the second method, making his intentions clear. “What would, traditionally, necessitate a spanking?”

Jason gives him a sardonic smile, that’s less smile and more uncomfortable grimace, “just being Jason Todd, usually.”

Bruce files that away, not forgotten, but on hold for the moment. “Any other cases?”

And that’s enough to get Jason to don the mask again, to hide the self-deprecation behind a mask of cocky confidence, wheels always turning, always coming off as easy to please.

“Swearing, tantrums, not doing chores, mistakes, disobedience in general, sometimes for no reason if you’re just a shitty father, correction, rule enforcing. Pick your poison Bats.”

He doesn’t need to, because he already knew what Jason’s biggest offense was, and he watched Jason’s hands clench on the sheet when he says, “putting yourself down is not acceptable behavior. Get into position.”

There’s no mistaking what position he refers to, not when he leans back, to make space for Jason to lay himself over Bruce’s knees.

Jason has one hand on the buckle of his belt, before he pauses. “On or, off?”

If it takes him a second, it’s because he doesn’t want to expose his cards to Jason, not at this juncture anyway, he knew from when they were in the training room, if not the night before, that it was...practical and more impactful skin to skin. It was a reasonable, excuse. “Off.”

The pause stretches into the space between them, and he can see the question and doubt in Jason’s eyes. It flickers out and dies as the pants fall around Jason’s feet.

***

It irks how practiced Jason is at it. Which is dumbfounding, as Bruce has spent his entire life not knowing this, not being affected by it, but now it’s almost an obsessive thought.

He starts off light, slow and it may seem like he’s savoring the feeling of how Jason’s ass bounces back, absorbs the shock and lightly starts to blush. There’s not much sound from Jason except his even breathing, no movement either, perfectly still. He raises his hand a little higher, brings it down a bit harder.

Then there it is, a moment of uncertainty now that he was thinking and not acting on impulse, and hesitation is just about to break to the surface and falter his hands mid spank. But then he thinks of Jason, raw, exposed, over his lap, giving him another gift of himself, and Bruce can’t do it to Jason twice, can’t let him down because he holds any weaknesses.

He stops, and before Jason can say anything, for he must have felt the faltering in his rhythm, he starts to stroke the hot flesh under his hand, kneading and working it, watching the color fade and then rush back in.

Jason moans, and Bruce isn’t sure if it’s in pain or otherwise, until Jason moves, and Bruce realizes he’s looking for friction. So he squeezes again, hard enough to embed his nails and watches Jason squirm. It’s like a switch has turned on, and in that moment it becomes less performance and more truth.

“Why are you being spanked?”

None of his own hesitation seems to have bled into Jason, who while a little out of breath, pushes for more, “for being a dick.”

Bruce’s palm comes down, harder, and the sound is deafening. “Try again.”

“For being a dick to myself?”

He goes with the same strength, but in a succession of five smacks to the same spot. He hears ‘ow, fuck’ and pauses. “Once more. Exactly how I worded it.”

“For putting myself down, you brute.”

Another five, same spot, with practiced precision. One of Jason’s legs kicked out, but he doesn’t reach back, doesn’t try to plead with Bruce to stop. So Bruce moves forward with his list of grievances. “Are you going to play nice with the other Robins?”

Jason doesn’t say anything, doesn’t acknowledge him, and Bruce switches to the other, neglected cheek, building up momentum there instead. Jason’s fingers claw his leg, and another soft ‘fuck’ escapes him.

“Can’t hear you, boy.”

“I will.”

But Bruce wasn’t convinced, and tries something else, something he’d seen a man respond to in one of the videos. He spreads Jason’s ass, and with two fingers, spanks him there. Jason nearly jumps off his lap entirely. But Bruce hooks his leg over Jason’s extended ones, locking him in place. “Is that how you speak to me?”

“I will Daddy!”

“Good boy. You are, aren’t you Jay? You’re Daddy’s good boy.” He slides the fingers back and forth, watching Jason buck into his hand, seeking more. Jason’s ‘yes Daddy’ explodes on a mangled gasp when Bruce goes back to spank his hole, before tapping his two fingers lightly against it, feeling the heat coming off of it.

“Look how well you’re doing, how strong you are, how well you’re taking this.” They sound calculated to him. Sounds like his positive reinforcement of Jason’s self-image, to counter his constant self-flagellation, is just there to fill the air with sounds between the smack smack sounds of his hand; but they aren’t, not when he sees Jason shake his head, not when he feels the taps of something hot seeping through his pants. Wherever Jason’s mind had gone in its trance state, he was absorbing Bruce’s words at least.

So Bruce talks to him, praises him, and all the while he keeps a litany of sharp smacks, back and forth, pausing to knead, to adjust Jason’s position when he slips or moves. Until the sobs are loud enough to hear, harder to ignore.

He lightens his touch, until he stops entirely. Then he drags Jason to his feet, only long enough to pull him down on the bed, head on Bruce’s chest, thumbing away residual tears, and murmuring the same soothing praises that hardly require any effort to think or say.

They stay like this for a while, Bruce wanting to be sure Jason is alright, struck by how different, how young and innocent Jason looks when neither the frown or the cocky smile is in place. He’s kind of, oddly charmed by it, and not a little affected by the rush of power that comes from knowing he’d done that, with little more than words and his hand, he’d given Jason a moment of peace.

His hand slips to check his handy work, bright red globes on a resurfacing, twitching body and a cock that was dripping precum on his pants. He slides his finger between the mounds, checking where he can’t see, and Jason spreads one of his legs to help him get there.

“You could...if you wanted.”

Bruce strokes Jason’s hair away from his face, other hand still. “Do you want to?”

“Well, you sort of owe me for watching me get my freak on. I think turnabout’s fair play? I could be the pillow you straddle.” He winks and that, somehow, makes all the difference; frames what Jason is really trying to say. Bruce can’t say he’s opposed, knows that the part of him that has gotten them both this far, has very little to do with wanting to keep Jason around, and a lot more to do with the image of someone else’s palm on Jason’s skin. His fingers twitch and he wonders if he should have let off some steam last night, or this morning, but it’s a moot point when he has Jason compliant and willing in his arms.

He should at least finish the job he’d started, he decides.

If he thought the way Jason moved on command was alluring, he was ill prepared for how mesmerizing Jason was when he was wild and free, and just a little high on emotional release. Because, if there was anything Jason never felt self-conscious about, Bruce knew it was his body. The way he showed it off in sex was proof of that. Whatever shyness or uncertainty is wiped away with raw magnetism.

He slipped his fingers out, one hand on Jason’s fiery ass to stop him from pushing back onto Bruce’s digits, and reached for the stack of ‘supplies’ Jason had produced from under a loose floorboard. Well, one of them.

Once the condom was rolled down his length, he guided himself slowly, carefully, mindful that pounding into Jason meant re-applying heat to his already bruised backside. Jason though, had other plans, and rocked back until Bruce felt the vice grip all around him, sucking the air from his lungs as he tried to breathe.

Whereas it had been awkward the first few times he’d said it, now it just slipped out, accompanied by a harsh smack to Jason’s thigh. “Daddy’s running this show, boy. So keep still.”

Jason stills, and Bruce is astounded enough by the miracle that pleasure is a distant blip on his radar. But then he starts to move, and the tight, hot passage slowly gives way, until Bruce can thrust with ease, concentrate on Jason’s body as it melds right into his, fitting together.

The room is filled with their harsh breathing, the occasional groan and gasp, and Bruce is suddenly close, a warning tingle in his spine. So he brings his hand around to Jason’s cock, helping him along, kiss to the back of his neck, and on impulse, he uses his other hand and pinches the closest nipple he can reach, feels Jason’s body as it clamps down, pulling the orgasm out of him. Then Jason lifts on up on his knees, thrusting back, chasing his own orgasm, Bruce’s hand still stroking him until Jason’s cock releases in spurts, all over Jason’s chest, and Bruce’s palm.

They collapse in a heap, Bruce mindful of pulling out, and making sure Jason’s hiss of pain is only because he’d temporarily forgotten to be careful to land on his side, not his back.

Later, Jason checked out his ass in the mirror and swore, “fuck, you really did a number on my poor butt.”

Bruce landed a well-aimed smack that caught Jason in the middle of both cheeks, “don’t swear.”

“Ouch, fine.”

When he produced a different tube of something that smelled herbal, Bruce got the hint, unscrewed the top, and took his time to smear it on the brightest spots.

He didn’t terribly mind when Jason leaned closer into his hands.

Didn’t mind at all.

***

Jason’s promised best behavior lasted nearly three days, and if it weren’t for the fact that Bruce had actively went looking for him, he wouldn’t have fallen into the psychedelic rabbit hole of what Jason thought was being good.

The hot pink, tight briefs barely holding his package in flashed as Jason swayed to beat of the music as Jason gyrated, swiveling his hips, lip synced and drummed on Tim’s bathroom door, before stepping back and continuing to..boogie? Shouting about being ‘in misery’ and ‘gonna get you back’.

Bruce watched him, mesmerized as Jason moved and rocked his body, completely uninhibited, and surprise was replaced with a grin. He leaned against the door, arms folded, and enjoyed the show while it lasted, knowing Jason would inevitably turn to find him there. He was counting on it in fact.

Sure enough, on the chorus of ‘why do you do what you do to me’ he turned to shake his ass at the firmly locked door he’d been trying to pry open, only to meet Bruce’s eyes.

Tim’s mask fell off of Jason’s face and he made an ‘oops’ face.

So Bruce beckoned him with a finger.

“You’ve got a really bad peeping habit, Daddy.”

Bruce tightened his grip on Jason’s ass, before slapping it once, causing Jason to jump in surprise. Their lips were inches apart when Bruce said, “maybe if you gave Daddy a private show, he’d let the attitude slide this time.”

Jason’s grin softened a little when Bruce’s fingers slipped through his hair, ruffling it.

The next time Bruce had his fingers carding through Jason’s hair, was to grip it tight as Jason pushed back against him, dancing to the tune of a song only he knew, back to Bruce’s chest, throat exposed to Bruce’s teeth as he nipped, and then bucked up into Jason’s clothed ass.

Jason’s strip show starts only when Bruce lets go of his throat, aiming for his lips. Jason first slips away from the door, then pushes Bruce towards the nearest seat.

He started doing a little shimmy, sliding his fingers slowly up his clinging shirt, waist circling, moving to the invisible tap of a beat, a silent, slow, sensual tune.

“What song is playing in that head of yours?”

“Well, it sure as hell ain’t ‘am I blue?’.”

Bruce is surprised at first, but laughter bubbles over because, of course, Jason out of everyone, would know and fixate on _that_. But soon enough laughter gives away to fixation, as he watches the display of slowly revealed muscles, their ripple as Jason twists his hips, rolling his body, turning to give Bruce a view of his backside, before shamelessly looking back, and giving a wink as he shakes his ass.

By the time his t-shirt is gone, his briefs rolled just that one impossible inch lower without exposing him entirely, he’s also riding Bruce’s lap and Bruce is worked up enough that he simply lifts Jason, and deposits him on the nearest flat surface, that just happened to be the desk.

Jason’s fingers are scrabbling for purchase, knocking papers and a paperweight. One of Bruce’s hands is sandwiched between Jason’s stomach and the edge of the desk that otherwise would be digging into Jason’s body.

It’s a courtesy Bruce extends because he knows this will be a short, rough fuck, and it is. Sinking into the tight heat of Jason’s body, trying for slow, but forgetting that Jason likes to take control the moment he can, and having to slap Jason’s thigh to keep him from shoving back.

“I’m the one running this show, and you’d best remember that.”

Jason just moans, trying to stay still and take it, and Bruce isn’t sure how long that will last, so he pushes in, stroking Jason’s insides and trying to angle his thrusts. Jason’s gasp is all the sign he needs before he’s plowing, rattling the desk they’re both trying to crush to the floor, and banging his hand in the process.

He can’t see Jason’s face like this, but he sees Jason’s hands, and stops the one trying to reach back. “I’ve got you, just hold on.”

Then he has Jason’s cock in his hand, stripping it expertly to the push and drag of his own, freeing it from the briefs just in time to feel Jason’s come coat his hand in spurts. Jason’s passage gets almost painfully tight around him and Bruce comes with a groan.

He watches later, as Jason is frantically cleaning up and checking the desk for any sign of foul play, but completely disregarding the mess he left on Bruce’s hand and a little on his shirt during the performance. It amused him that Jason had more regard for Alfred finding out about them, and about inconveniencing Alfred with this type of cleaning, when he could care less if anyone else in the world knew. He flexed his hand, trying to asses the damage and wondering if he should pad the edges of the desk.

“Fuck, it’s everywhere!”

His mouth twitched, but he didn’t say anything. They weren’t in a scene, Jason was being his charming self, and he didn’t want Jason accusing him of being overbearing, couldn’t bear to pop the fragile bubble of balance they’d settled inside.

Jason’s side look his way, after cursing again, solidified his conviction on that matter. His twitching fingers as Jason continued a litany of curses, busied themselves with fishing out Jason’s hot pink briefs from where they’d ended up, rubbing over the wet spot.

***

They’re alone in his office, the now unofficial playroom where Bruce has made slight fashionable adjustments that, should they be helpful in getting Jason on his knees, against the wall, or trapped under the desk, were just an added bonus, really.

Bruce’s fingers delved between Jason’s legs and stopped short. He felt the round, rubbery material, tapped it once and watched as Jason rose so he was on his toes, face half buried in Bruce’s neck.

‘Hadn’t asked for permission’ rattled inside Bruce’s head, warring with the fact they hadn’t covered Jason’s use of toys. His instinctive response though was that Jason knew, _knew_ Bruce would consider it a breach of their power exchange, even if it was a loophole. Jason had always been the type to ask for forgiveness and understanding rather than permission, and in their dynamic, this seemed no exception.

In fact, hadn’t he been doing that all week? Testing the waters and limits of what Bruce would allow, testing if Bruce would abide by the rules they agreed on?

The deliberate slide back into trouble with Tim, the furtive glances as he packed his words with profanities, disregard for orders, and now this. How far was Jason willing to test Bruce until he trusted that he was sincere?

Whether he wanted or not, Jason was making ripples and expecting Bruce to yield or follow. As that was not how he led, Bruce could only interpret this as a challenge. It was a surprise how easy it came to him to be stern, but he found the words were out without having to think too deeply on them. “This,” he punctuated his words with a twist to the base of the plug, “I don’t recall being asked permission for, or giving.”

Jason rocked back into Bruce’s hand, grinning as he said, “but you like it, so that’s okay, right?”

In response, Bruce removed his hand, and grabbed hold of Jason’s arm instead. He didn’t pull, not yet. “why don’t you think more about that, in the corner.”

He saw Jason balk, trying to pull his arm away from Bruce’s hold, “you can’t do that, you never said I couldn’t. You can’t just impose a punishment for something you never specifically said I wasn’t allowed to do.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow, grip still strong around Jason’s arm, not tugging back, but not letting go. “How about time-out for sass then?”

“Bastard! That’s not _fair_.”

Bruce stopped short at the sharp tone, but pressed on, he’d waded in and there was no sense in back tracking now. “Corner. Now.”

Jason looked murderous, ready for a fight or flight, but Bruce knew better, knew to stare down until he could locate it, the constantly lurking lost look, just under the surface of Jason’s rage. The day he’d stop being able to see it there, is the day he’d know to back off. But there it was, the vulnerable look, the confusion, the little effort into keeping his mouth in a scowl that didn’t falter.

“What if I safeword?”

“Then you safeword, we’ll talk about it, but you’re not getting out of that corner until I see some modicum of respect to a rule you already know not to cross.”

They were at a standstill, and Bruce’s heart was beating in his chest, not anxious, but still wondering if that had been the correct response, still doubtful even though he feels it deep in his gut, that to not take a stand, is to allow everything to unravel and be lost. Jason would say he was dramatic, but Bruce would say that it was a sign of how serious he always is. Why he was trustworthy.

Jason took a step forward, as if to leave, and Bruce had to clench his teeth and force his body not to move. He only let out the breath he was holding, when Jason turned and walked to the corner of the office, facing away from Bruce, shoulders tense.

Bruce left it at that, going around to his desk, sitting down and crunching some numbers, and generally ignoring Jason. In theory that is. His mind and vision often strayed to Jason, watching to see if he was still being stubborn, and observing closely as slowly but eventually, Jason hung his head down, shoulders dropped. There was no hitch, no sniffle, but even so, Bruce knew there were tears.

He got that same uncomfortable feeling in his chest, as the one so long ago when he’d been in Jason’s room in that death trap building, just the two of them and the sound of Bruce’s palms meeting Jason’s skin for the first time.

After an exact thirty minutes had elapsed, he moved out of his chair, and placed a hand on Jason’s arm. Jason moved to get his arm out of the way, shaking Bruce off.

He should get angry, angry in the sense that Jason was resisting comfort, being stubborn, or at least frustrated, but he didn’t, because he knew there lay a road of ruin, and that might be exactly what Jason was waiting for, expecting even? But it was the last thing Jason needed.

So he stroked the back of Jason’s neck, trying to give comfort, and when Jason turned his face away, Bruce’s dismay was only that Jason’s face was damp with tears. “What’s wrong Jay?”

But Jason didn’t say anything. So Bruce moved his fingers lower, until he was rubbing Jason’s back, slow, light and he hoped, affectionately.

Jason slide down to the floor, hiding his face behind arms folded over his bent knees. Bruce followed suit, concern and worry at the forefront of his mind. There was a vague mumble from behind the crossed limbs, but Bruce waited. When nothing else came forth, he steeled his voice, put some authority behind it, but also continued to rub Jason’s back as he said, “speak up.”

“I know it’s only playing around for you. I know you don’t take it seriously.” Jason scrubbed his face, “sorry. You didn’t agree to more, I know that.”

“Jason, I do. I take it seriously. I see how different you are when we’re in a scene, of course I take it seriously.”

“You don’t. If you did, if you _really_ saw me, you wouldn’t just let me get away with so much. You feel guilt, maybe pity, when you look at me. I should be happy that you indulge me, but when it comes to you? Maybe I always wanted more than you could give me Bruce.”

Bruce brought their foreheads together, invading Jason’s space, hands holding Jason’s face. “Don’t you ever say that again. Don’t you know that I would have given anything to have been the one in that chair? No one pities courage, and guilt has nothing to do with why I’m on my knees Jason. Tell me the truth, don’t hide. Say it.”

“I want you to have it all. I want to be accountable to you.”

“Are you sure?”

“I am. You won’t hurt me.”

“Won’t I?”

“Not like that.”

But he couldn’t promise something like that to Jason and not promise it to Red Hood, and there, he knew, still lay uncertainty. He kissed Jason’s nose, the corner of his mouth, “I’ll do my best,” then sealed their lips.

***

It didn’t take too long for that to be put to the test either. Not when Jason walked in holding a formal letter of invitation to a fundraiser that Bruce didn’t want him, or his sticky fingers anywhere near. He said as much, only a lot more polite than the version he’d thought of in his head.

“I have my business to think of. Casinos need patrons to spend money, and charming Gotham’s walking money bags is sorta my job. Especially since Daddy cut me off.”

Bruce’s skepticism wasn’t unfounded when he said, “the Iceberg Lounge belongs to the Su sisters.”

Jason didn’t miss a beat, “I’m still part owner. Besides have you seen Suzie? It’ll costs more money than the can raise to pay for the buffet she’ll be clearing. Who’d want that hulk in a fundraiser? Anyway, I’ve always been the face of the operation.”

He ignored the cockiness in favor of trying to dissuade Jason from attending. “It would be a clash of interest for Wayne Enterprise to have you there in a separate capacity. Our ongoing investigation into Hugo is a delicate operation, and we don’t want to raise his suspicions least he bury the trail and go underground.”

“In other words, you want me to keep my Red Hood-ed nose out of it?”

Bruce held in a sigh, “that would be appreciated, yes. Mixing our two doctrines on how to conduct criminal investigations wouldn’t be a good idea.”

After a beat, Jason said, “you’re right.”

Bruce couldn’t keep the surprise from his voice when he replied, “I’m right?”

“Yes. That’s what I said, isn’t it?”

“I’m just surprised you’re being acquiescent.”

“Woah, more big words from the big man. I have no problem admitting something is right.”

He should have known though, if not from the ease of which the conversation had gone, then from the way Jason batted his eyelashes at Bruce, that that conversation wasn’t over. Not by a mile.

And on the day of the fundraiser, the sheer nerve is what has the vein in Bruce’s temple throbbing. The sheer nerve to not only show up, despite assuring Bruce he wouldn’t, but then to show up in the flashiest way possible, attracting attention, and pretending not to notice that Bruce was staring daggers at him. To top the evening off, he’d managed to corral half the ladies to his corner, making approaching him quite difficult. Worse, it made monitoring him so he wouldn’t go off on his own and do something nearly impossible, as the throngs of women shielded him from clear view.

Which was probably why he didn’t notice when Jason had slipped away exactly. He made his own excuses, needing a private place to take an important phone call, before he was ushered to a room away from the bustle and chatter of the ballroom, and closer to the more private quarters in the mansion. Bruce then slipped quietly and silently away from the room, taking advantage of the wide windows and the several balconies, which, while stunning from an architectural point of view, were a security hazard.

It didn’t take long at all to locate where Jason was, in the rather garish office that spoke more of wealth than sense, or to catch him red handed, with fingers rifling through a filing cabinet, broken into, no doubt. His own ninja entrance hadn’t gone unnoticed, and Jason turned around casually, sifting through a few papers as he did. His smirk was all too obvious without the mask, but Bruce wasn’t mistaking the lack of gear for this being a social call.

“And how exactly did you manage to end up all the way here?”

Jason waved the files around, before winking at Bruce, “oh, just lost my way looking for the bathroom. Those ladies sure can put those cocktails away.”

“What happened to ‘you’re right’.”

“Am I hearing an echo? Didn’t I already say I had no problem saying something is right?”

“Then what do you call this? Why didn’t you stay out like I asked you to?”

“Because, Bats, when I said you were right, I never said _I_ wasn’t right too.”

“This isn’t a game, put the files back. You’re compromising a much bigger operation.”

Jason scoffed, files still held loosely enough that he wasn’t leaving much of a dent, or any visible trace. “You’d allow this creep to keep expanding his operations, and have free rein in Gotham?”

Bruce knows not to show any frustration, especially since they’ve had this same exact conversation hundreds if not thousands of times before, and he almost wants to blame the few times he’d given in to Jason’s unorthodox methods of getting things done. Still, this was Dick’s operation, and even if he was invested in the outcome, having those two’s relationship strained would just bring about disaster. So he went for tact, “catching him in action is the only way to make sure we pin the charges on him, especially people like him who have money to throw away on erasing their tracks. If you’re interested in protecting those who might come to harm, maybe focus your energy on helping them instead of rummaging in this man’s cabinet.”

Jason produced the documents, handing them over reluctantly. Bruce wasn’t fooled for a minute. “Thank you. I’ll also be needing the flash drive, and the cam scans you took.”

To which Jason just grinned and said, “you’ll have to pry those out of my cold dead hands old man.”

“No need, I know they aren’t there.” He had his hands on Jason’s belt, fingers dipping just under the elastic of his briefs, when Jason grabbed his hand to stop him. “Kinky, but maybe not the best of times.”

Bruce pushed his fingers further in, and watched Jason squirm, trying to shift the drive somewhere south of where it was currently clinging. If he bluntly grabbed it, Bruce would know where to shake the fabric to speed up its descent.

They were still grappling when a noise had them both freeze. Bruce pulled Jason along using his belt, and slipped behind the curtain, using the hand that wasn’t trying to grab the flash drive, to slowly close the window again, so no wind exposed them.

Footsteps sounded in the distance, the door softly creaked as it opened. There was no other sound. It was probably security, checking that no guests had slipped into other rooms in the mansion, for whatever reason. Sure enough he heard the faint sound of a blip before the person said, “all clear in the study,” and walked off. They stayed in the same position a few minutes more, just to be safe.

It was only then that Bruce realized his hand had shifted to follow the memory stick, and was still lodged inside Jason’s dress pants; and, that Jason was suspiciously quiet. When he shoved his hand further down, he had to close his eyes and bite his lips so as not to say anything, even when the warm bulge met his fingers. He looked Jason in the eyes and whispered, “you cannot be serious.”

“How are _your_ fingers in _my_ pants, my problem exactly? I’m a stud being groped by a lecher, whom I’ve informed several times before, that I might get off on the idea of exposure.”

Thrilling as that was, Bruce’s mind was still elsewhere, namely, on retrieving the flash drive. “Fine. Give me the flash drive and I won’t leave you hanging.”

Jason mumbled something that suspiciously sounded like an impolite send off. So Bruce pulled his hand out and he nipped Jason’s ear, pushing him firmly against the wall, until his body was raised on Bruce’s thigh, rocking forward. “Come again?”

“Fuck you!”

Bruce sighed, audible and loud in the quiet office, “what did I say about swearing?”

“Fuck you fuck you _fuck you_.”

He ran the back of his hand over the bulge, fingers flicking the zipper as they made their way up the squelching, bunched up fabric causing Jason to hiss and grind down Bruce’s thigh. He could feel the ridges of the zipper, and not doubt Jason was using even that bit of texture as friction to get off. He might not be able to spank him right there without risk of exposing them both. Though really, Jason wasn’t tempering his voice at all, so a spanking wouldn’t be much of a step-up in the noise department.

He pulled the zipper down, but it was a little too late as Jason’s pants were soaked through already. Bruce had to marvel at just how still Jason had kept, how moderated his breathing had been, when he was obviously in a state of extreme arousal, edging himself on what little touch was available. Not that Bruce wasn’t affected now, knowing Jason couldn’t stand to have Bruce touching him without responding.

So he made sure to get Jason there faster, focusing on the head even through the fabric of his briefs, rubbing right under, before pushing his thumb upwards, finding the slit in the tip, and rubbing the slick there, digging for more and making sure the fabric shifted and rubbed the spot. He used his other hand to jack the rest of Jason’s cock, whatever could fit through the opening in his pants at least. It didn’t take long after that, and soon Jason’s body tensed, then went lax for a few breathless moments.

Bruce’s next words were spoken right in Jason’s left ear, his face obscured, but voice clearly amused “what a mess. I guess you can’t stay until the end of the evening in this state.”

There was a lopsided grin on Jason’s face, features etched with satisfaction, “guess not.”

Bruce’s smile rivaled Jason’s, quirking upwards a little when showed Jason what he was holding in his hand and said, “guess I’ll be returning this on your behalf then.”

Jason swore.

***

Bruce was still contemplating their actions from the night before. Knowing full well that warming up Jason’s ass for intruding on the operation was technically off limits, as he also technically did have an invitation to attend the fundraiser. What Bruce could for sure nail him down for was profanities. Not that any corrective method was working. He knew, deep down that no amount of blistering Jason’s ass or corner time would curb that particular habit.

So he decided his creativity needs a lift, and checked out the slowly increasing list of links where one could buy unmarked, discrete packages. He’s scrolling through the site in search of inspiration and he finds it. Not in the selection of toys, not in the section of bondage, and not even in the list of recommended items based on past purchases. The ad is cutesy, shocking, and exactly what he was looking for.

It’s probably not what Jason had in mind, nor something that had occurred to him, but Bruce was willing to test his own increasing understanding of Jason through his observations and trust in that the inordinate time he’d spent watching and studying Jason has helped him make a decision that would go over well. Probably.

He’s less confident when the bulky package arrives, and even worse when he witnesses Jason’s reaction to it.

A succinct, “what the _fuck_ is that?”

He has to rush after Jason to grab him before he flees Bruce’s bedroom, which might just lead to an awkward moment of running after him all over the manor to explain, while every eye was on them.

“Jason wait.”

“No!” He pulled away from Bruce, heading to the door and nearly managing to open it.

Bruce slammed a hand on the wooden frame. Caging Jason against the door, but no longer physically holding him, just towering over. “You said you trusted me.”

“Obviously, the time I spent dead and rotting in a coffin has severely impaired my judgment. Now I see the error of my ways. _Let_ _go_.”

“If you would let me explain-”

“Explain? It’s a fucking,” and his voice went low, hushed up and seething, “ _diaper,_ Bruce! I..when did I ever give you that impression? I don’t want-” his voice strained again, less angry and more disappointed as he questioned “was it a misunderstanding this whole time? I don’t want to regress, I’m not trying to re-live my childhood. That’s not what I’m about.”

He feels it like a punch in the gut, that Jason would think that once again it was all a game, that Bruce’s interest was superficial enough that springing this surprise meant Jason was just an afterthought in the process.

“I know that. Jason I _know_ that. If you say the word, if this is a hard limit, I will respect that. I want you to know that I _see_ you. Forgive the cliché but I want to push you, test some limits. I don’t want a version of you that is compliant and not you, but I do want to see you challenged, and know that you need me as much as I want you to need me. We can sit down and have an actual conversation about this, and I will prove that I do know you. But don’t walk away without allowing me to clear this up first.”

“I don’t know Bruce. It’s very hard to see how your version of me ends up wearing... _that_.”

Bruce sighs in relief though, when Jason moves away from the door. He pulls Jason along until they’re on the bed, Bruce leaning his back against the headboard and Jason bracketed between his legs. He doesn’t face Jason because he wants him to be able to express his emotions without schooling them for Bruce’s benefit. There’s enough of a reflection from one of the mirrors in the room to sneak a glance though.

He doesn’t start talking immediately, has one arm around Jason’s middle, the other stroking Jason’s thigh, trying to gauge when the tension leaves Jason’s body, or at least lessens. After a few minutes of breathing in deep and exhaling, until they’re breathing in sync, he keeps the stroking up and begins.

“You know how you like to grind against things? You edge yourself, hold your orgasm in, but then you get so desperate, so sensitive that the smallest flick or touch gets you off?”

Jason doesn’t say anything, and Bruce doesn’t have to look at his face to know if what he says is right, because Jason’s ears which have turned scarlet are enough of a tell. “How you test the limit of what you can get away with in public, having a secret that might get exposed at any minute, shocking people, getting them to watch but not knowing what exactly you’re showing them, or keeping from them.”

He slips his fingers downward, teasing the seam of Jason’s jeans, so close to Jason’s sensitive inner thighs, but not going there.

“At the same time, you want them to know, don’t you? How sexy you really are, how needy, how their gaze affects you. How you’re _there_ , within reach, but you know I won’t let them, because all that belongs to me.”

Jason shudders in his arms, still not a sound, and Bruce goes the last mile, finally admits out loud, “how you feel following my lead, how you don’t have to keep control of this part of you, because it’s _mine_ to control, and it gives us both a rush to know that. How it makes me heady with the power you’ve given me, how it’s finally brought you home. To me.”

For a second, there’s absolute quiet, until Bruce lifts his eyes to see Jason’s looking back at him through the mirror on the side.

There’s something so stunning about the picture Jason paints, flushed, aroused and vulnerable and happy. He breaks the silence to say, “okay,” and Bruce molds his fingers around the bulge between Jason’s legs, cupping the heat. In absolute relief.

“Did I get it right?”

Jason gives him a kiss and he supposes that’s enough for now.

***

His good mood doesn’t last for long after Bruce says, “but for now, it’s a punishment for not censoring yourself.”

“If I’d known you were manipulating me into a punishment, I would have punched you in the face.”

But Bruce grins, because he has Jason naked on the bed, legs spread and hands trying to cover his face as Bruce scrutinizes him, wiping away the sticky residue of the quick hand job, which was has made the job of getting Jason out of his jeans, much easier.

Jason’s eyes nearly grow in size when Bruce pulls out a few things stashed under the pillow for just this purpose. Thankfully the powder isn’t cold as it snows on Jason’s skin, and Jason’s cock only twitches once in a valiant effort to come back so soon after his orgasm.

“Shit. How long are you going to just stare? Get this over with.”

“That’s one more hour in the diaper, please keep going, I’m keeping a tally.”

Which just meant Jason squirmed and tried to close his legs, and Bruce had to smack the side of his leg to stop him.

“For fuck’s sake!”

Bruce kissed the knee closest to him, slid his mouth until he reached and kissed the crease there and mouthed the sensitive flesh. “Nice boys get a plug, but boys with potty mouths get a cock-ring and an extra hour.”

“Both sound like torture, _pass_.”

“Wasn’t asking.”

In the event, he didn’t end up pulling the cock ring, because he didn’t want to overwhelm Jason even further for his first time. Plus, who knew how long Jason’s foray into the world of diapers would last that night?

He was closing the tabs, covering up Jason’s body, when Jason’s hands covered his face entirely, hiding behind them.

“What’s wrong Jay?”

“Ugh, don’t call me that while I’m like _this_.”

“Come on Jay, what are you getting embarrassed for? It’s just Daddy.”

“It makes _noise_.”

Bruce tried to keep the laughter out of his voice. He wasn’t sure if he was successful. “I’m sure it does. Your suit should absorb that nicely.”

He allowed Jason to sit up, and leave the bed, following the little funny walk he did as he tried to maneuver with the bulk between his feet. Jason stopped at the mirror and turned around to see how he looked, and groaned. “My ass’s lost all definition.”

Bruce moved to follow him, then smacked the padded ass in question and said sternly, “who exactly are you trying to show off for? Be a good boy for Daddy and stop trying to get out of this punishment.”

“I really, _really_ hate you sometimes.”

Bruce kissed Jason’s nose and said, “me too.”

Two hours later during stakeout, Jason echoed his previous sentiments, with an amendment. “I take it back, I fucking _loathe_ you, you _bastard_.”

In his ears, Bruce just said, “that’s two more hours, and a promise you won’t be able to sit down in the next stake out.”

Jason grunted.

“What is it now?”

Jason’s voice was gruff when he replied, “nothing.”

But Bruce knew, he could see it clearly from the cam, that Jason, who was usually fine squatting over the roof of a building for hours on end, had gotten up more than twice to shake his legs, stand for a long silent moment, and rock back and forth when he sat down.

“Jason do you need to-” his monitor beeped, sensing movement, and he could see that Jason had noticed it too.

“On it.”

Bruce was on standby, his intel indicated this was a set-up, a decoy for the real operation, which Tim and Damian were on, Dick having left for the port where the trade was supposed to take place.

Not half an hour later, they were tying the criminals up, handing them off, and checking in to see Dick’s side of things. Once he got the all-clear, he sent Damian and Tim off, and tried to locate a Jason that had beat a very hasty retreat after leaving a pile of unconscious bodies in his wake.

It didn’t take long before he was pulled into the shadows by Jason, whose back was to the wall. helmet on the floor, and fingers clawing into Bruce’s suit.

“Take it off. Take it off _now_.”

Bruce gripped Jason’s fingers, and sensing the frustration in Jason’s voice, treaded carefully. “Let go Jay.”

He hissed, “Bruce, please? I can’t hold it in. Please, not like this.”

So Bruce got his cape around them, covering their heads, shielding Jason from where they were, from prying eyes, from the whole world. “And I’m telling you it’s alright to let go. It’s just us, and I’m here to catch you.”

Jason hung his head, legs shaking, he whispered, “I can’t.”

Bruce pushed into him, nearly melding him with the wall behind him. “You want to be good for Daddy, right? If there’s anything I can do to help, tell me, use me,” he could feel there was something off about the diaper against his leg, as if it were weighed down. And he got it, knew why Jason was struggling. “Finish the job Jay, you’re halfway there. Daddy’s right here.”

The sniffle wasn’t completely unexpected, but Bruce looped an arm around Jason and tried to sooth him down when he went still and the heat against Bruce’s leg grew. He wasn’t sure if his whispers of ‘good boy’ registered with Jason, and after a while, Bruce grew quiet as he waited for Jason’s breathing to slow and even out.

“you still have a few hours to go, do you want Daddy to change you?”

Jason nodded, tears clinging to his long lashes, and Bruce couldn’t help but lean and kiss his eyelids, until they fully closed.

“What do we say if we need something?”

Jason looked at him, face aflame and Bruce could only tell because of the heat coming off his face, “please?”

Bruce slotted their lips together, kissing Jason, pulling small soft sighs and little groans out of him, sucking his bottom lip and running his teeth over it gently.

“That’s my polite boy, you always make Daddy very proud, Jay.”

Jason borrowed closer, clinging to Bruce, a hug that meant a lot more than others they’d shared, and Bruce knows he’s going to be forever lost in this boy, could never go back to how they were before.

“Let’s go home, boy.”

**Author's Note:**

> Song is Misery by Maroon 5. Jason's national anthem.


End file.
